


the altar is my hips

by BuddysImpala



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Worship, Lover - Freeform, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot, Sex, Smut, Taylor Swift - Freeform, barlyle - Freeform, false god, how do I even tag this, my ace ass can’t tag this with a straight face, no names used so... picture who you wanna, uh, vague Top/Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 08:55:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20405053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuddysImpala/pseuds/BuddysImpala
Summary: He would spend forever at the mercy of these hands if he could.





	the altar is my hips

He gasps, back arching. Ringmaster’s name at his lips. Suction between his hips brings tears to his eyes, he closes them. Fingers scramble, searching for something, anything, to hold on to.

His entire body is aflame with stimulation, nipples swollen, bites at his hips blissfully throbbing and slick with saliva, with possession. Warm, wet, the ringmaster pulls away, devil’s grin at his lips.

He whines, tears already spilling over. He hardly notices. Reaches out to him with hands that feel detached from his body. He wants him, wants him everywhere at once, yet can’t find the words meaningful enough to articulate that.

Sudden fingers, slick with lube or spit, breach him and he gasps, hips jerking down to meet the man’s touch. When had he—?

Never mind.

His own whines and whimpers fill his head, begging more, more, more. He is a pitiful excuse of a man just then, begging for another’s _mouth_, another’s _hands_, another’s _cock_, but he doesn’t care. He would spend forever at the mercy of these hands if he could.

The ringmaster stretches above him, sly as a cat, smirk at his lips. He knows that every single nerve in his lover’s body is set afire, wanting him and only him, and he takes his sweet time, dragging lips over sensitive skin, nipping at the marks he’d previously left.

Please, please, oh, please.

When he is finally filled, stretched and handled like a doll, his responding moan is high and low at the same time, deep and shrill, would be absolutely mortifying if it didn’t feel so damn good. His hands scramble at the man’s back, his legs curl around the ringmaster’s waist, and he clings like a man who will break if forced to let go.

He doesn’t remember what it was like to not be filled by this man. Doesn’t remember what it was like before he was left at the mercy of this man’s cock. Doesn’t remember what he had ever done with himself before being whisked away by this man, this man who promised magic and wishes and dreams, and, and—

His entire body shudders and, somewhere, he hears himself calling out the ringmaster’s name. The man’s name, the only name he has ever known, as he stiffens and relaxes, the man’s glorious cock still filling him up as he spills evidence of his pleasure all over their shared bed.

He is filled with an immense warmth as the ringmaster spills inside him, calling his name and biting him again, this time on his neck or his chest or, or — he doesn’t quite know.

Their bodies are still one and he clings, never wanting to let go.

The ringmaster chuckles and gently pulls away, whispering love and endearment in his ear, but he doesn’t hear.

He sighs, body lax and spent, as he entwines their fingers. Closes his eyes.

Drifts from one place of worship to another.

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from False God by Taylor Swift


End file.
